


Back To Me

by cecilantro



Series: Dreamwalking [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: Molly walks the lines of other's nightmares enough for it to be familiar.When it comes to his own, though, it's a different story.





	Back To Me

Molly wakes up.   
He tries to wake up again, immediately, it’s a too-familiar situation.   
He opens his eyes and they sting rough raw with the sandy dirt he knows is forcing its way in. The weight over the top of him is the furthest thing from comforting. He’s learned, now, what comforting weight it. From Fjord flinging an arm around him in his sleep, to Caleb, who likes to sleep  _ over _ him like a cat would.    
This is not the warm, comforting weight of a man that he loves.   
This is cold. Impersonal. Crushing.   
_ Dirt. _ _   
_ He’s re-lived this one enough times by now not to panic. As much.   
His first reaction is to wriggle, wriggle until he can tug one arm, his left, up, pull his shirt up to cover his mouth. He’s lucky that the people that had buried him hadn’t bothered to pack the earth, the grave is only three or so feet deep and the dirt is loose enough that Molly can fight through the pain of it in his eyes to work.   
He’s been here, alone, so many times before. Truly, he is always alone.    
He finds himself  __ begging silently, to the fates of the universe, he wants Caleb. He wants Fjord. He doesn’t want to be alone.   
He begins to shuffle and wriggle and claw his way out of his own grave. Again.

 

Caleb hasn’t suffered through a nightmare in a few days, coming up to a record for him, really. He’s not even really aware that he’s dreaming, at first. Sat in the corner of a bookshop, cross-legged, reading a book quite happily. The bookshop is warm. His coat is shrugged off and set aside, the shelves are tall above him and full, full, full of old, leather-bound books.   
It smells so nice in here.    
Old paper, old books, burning oil, distant ink, even the scent of rain from outside. It’s perfect.   
Or almost.   
Molly’s coat is flung beside Caleb’s, on the floor. Caleb hadn’t noticed it the first time he looked, but he looks again and there it is.   
He looks around for Molly. For  _ his _ Molly.   
He can’t see him anywhere.   
There’s a distant feeling, like a tap-tapping on his mind, the same sensation as tapping on a window. He can ignore it, for a while.   
He bookmarks the page in the book he’s reading, chooses to skim the shelves instead, seeing if he can find something that Molly would enjoy. He’s sure his partner will be back soon, Molly has never let him down.   
Maybe something like the book Caleb has been reading?   
Oh, what  _ was _ he reading? Something about… horses?   
He opens the page back up. It’s a page on flowers.   
“Ah.” Caleb says, aloud, “A dream.”   
He doesn’t bother searching for the right book on the shelves, now, just thinks about something that Molly would like and it comes to his fingers.   
He pulls it from the shelf, reads the gold-leaf inlay of the title,   
_ CALEB. _   
Well. That’s unusual.   
He opens the book up, flicks through pages, and pages, of blank. Just blank.   
Words catch his eye.   
_ HELP ME. _   
He startles, turns back to Molly’s coat on the floor.   
The hem at the bottom, and about a foot up from that, is stained and dirtied with earth and mud, and he heads for it, lets the book fall as he moves.   
“How?” He says, to the  _ coat _ of all things, “ _ Mollymauk _ .”   
The coat flickers, blurs in and out of existence, he sees a gap in reality where the fabric had once been and then he sees forest floor.   
He picks it up, and the view shifts. He sees forest, dark, dead trees against a deep blue sky, and dirt. A patch in amongst the grass of damp, newly turned dirt.   
He recognises from the patches of descriptions from Molly, from Kree, and once the realisation hits him, he’s lost. He takes a step in, and the bookshop, the warmth, the smell, Caleb’s coat… it all disappears.   
It’s cold. It’s dark. The moon hangs above him in the sky.   
He runs to Molly’s grave.

 

Fjord is accustomed to the dreams of the water, he’s gotten so used to it that he’s taught himself how to figure out when he’s asleep. He leans, idly, on the side of the ship, looks down into the water and marvels at the way the hull cuts through effortlessly, it will never stop amazing him.    
The water below ripples. Bubbles, in a way unfamiliar to Fjord.   
He stands upright, leans further over for a better view,   
“What the  _ fuck _ ?” He mutters, to himself more than anything, and the water bubbles and roils harder in the wake of the sound.   
The boat has stopped moving.   
He sees patterns in the water, floating up in the boiling bubbles and scattering, the water seems to change colour, gold patterns, red water, and it takes a few moments. It takes too long.   
It’s Molly’s coat.   
And then the patterns and the bubbles and the water fade away, and like a lake reflecting its surroundings, Fjord sees a forest. A moon, grass, trees, and he’s up on the side of the boat before he can run it properly through his mind.   
Molly has mumbled about this, when Fjord’s woken him from his nightmares, too many times for Fjord to count. He’s told Fjord exactly what happens, told him exactly how he feels.   
Fjord has seen Mollymauk broken down to tears over this, has heard the pain when he tells Fjord how alone he was, how alone he’s terrified to be, and Fjord jumps.   
Dives, headfirst, into the image.    
He rolls onto soft grass, the smell of ocean air and the feel of spray on his face gone, behind him, he smells the earth. The air is crisp around him, but not cold, more like a somewhat damp summer’s night. There’s a faint scent of sulphur in the air.   
He looks around, wildly, and finally spots it.   
Molly’s grave.   
  
Caleb looks up at the sound of breathing, and there’s Fjord.    
“Help.” Caleb croaks, and when Fjord looks, he sees Caleb scooping earth two-handed, away from Molly’s grave, and he hurries to his side.   
“We’re comin’ for y’, Molly.” Fjord says, too loud for comfort but he needs Molly to hear it, and they dig.   
They claw away handful after handful of dirt, the dark forest around them deathly still and the smell of sulphur ever-present, they toss and toss and claw.   
And then Caleb feels fabric under his fingers.   
“Here.” He tells Fjord, and his voice is husky with the panting and the lack of use, Fjord comes and they both grab a handful and  _ pull _ Molly up and out of the earth. Kind of like a carrot, only with more panic and worry.   
Molly splutters as they yank him out of his own grave, breathes in air instead of soil and coughs and coughs and coughs, until Fjord and Caleb think he might be sick.   
And lo and behold, he turns and coughs and retches over the edge of the grave. Caleb hushes and brushes his hair back from his face, Fjord rubs gentle circles into his back and the two of them huddle around Molly to share what warmth they can, because Molly is as cold as death.   
When Molly finds air in his lungs without the dirt, he turns and looks between them,   
“Are you… real?”   
Caleb looks down at his own hands, up at Fjord, back to Molly.   
“I- I think, I would think, maybe?”   
“I think so.” Fjord supplements from Molly’s other side, and the tiefling sits back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and concentrates on taking big, deep breaths.   
“I’ve never had someone in  _ my _ nightmares before.” Molly says, smiles wryly, “This is new. How did you  _ get _ here?”   
“I was in a bookstore.” Caleb supplies, still stroking Molly’s hair back from his face. It’s short, so much shorter than it is in life. “Your coat was, was on the floor, I didn’t realise at first that it was a dream. There was a book, I wanted something that you, that  _ you _ would like, and it, the book asked for help. Your coat became, something like a portal? A hole, maybe, between dreams.”   
Molly nods. He’s seen that happen to him, only once, from his dream to Caleb’s nightmare. When Caleb called for him.   
Had he been calling for Fjord and Caleb without realising it?   
Fjord leans in to bump a quick kiss to Molly’s temple,    
“I saw th’ forest in the reflection on th’ water, an’ I recognised it from the things you’ve told me. I thought about you tellin’ me how horrible you feel when you’re alone, here, an’ I just… jumped.”   
“You jumped off of a  _ boat _ ?” Caleb asks, incredulous, and Fjord smiles awkwardly. Molly chuckles, under Caleb’s fingers,   
“The things you’ll do for love, hm?”   
A silence settles, Molly’s eyes stay on his grave, Calebs are trained firmly on Fjord, and Fjord is staring at Molly, incredulous.   
He blinks, slowly, the shocked expression fades into an affectionate smile.   
“Th’ things I’d do for love.” He affirms, and Molly turns knowingly into the kiss, into the smile and the soft strokes to Molly’s back.   
Caleb sits at last, settles his head to Molly’s shoulder. He’s tired. Exhausted, even.   
He closes his eyes.   
And the summer air dissipates, all three find themselves waking up in the camp, part of the way back to Zadash, entwined together.   
Molly laughs, softly, and finds Caleb kissing at the side of his face that he can reach.   
“This is far better than the forest.” Molly comments, quiet so as not to disturb Yasha and Beau as they sit on watch.   
“You did say that there would be no more sleeping alone.” Caleb points out helpfully between quick kisses, and Fjord hums agreement from Molly’s other side.   
“Does that mean we’re gonna keep on dreamin’ together? I don’t know about you two, but I got things I’d like to keep private.”   
There’s a smile and a joke behind it though, and Molly laughs as he turns to kiss the gag out of Fjord’s mouth, lets Caleb voice his comeback,   
“Ah, but those are things that could certainly be performed with us present,  _ ja _ ? Unless you have further interests you would like to discuss with us.”   
“Don’t be a smartass, Caleb.” Fjord rolls his eyes, “An’ stop corruptin’ him, Molly, Caleb was perfect an’ innocent before you got y’ claws int’ him.”   
“Oh.” Molly smiles, devilish and somewhat terrifying, “I can assure you that my claws are not the only thing that I have had in Caleb.”   
“ _ Gods _ ,” Beau’s voice cuts through the dizzied response Fjord was planning on giving, “That is  _ too much information _ . Go to fucking sleep, or I swear I’ll knock you out.”   
All three boys share a very brief laugh, and hush and cut one another off at Beau’s glare.   
“Sorry, Beauregard. Goodnight.” Caleb is the one volunteered to speak, and she whips her snarl to him, piercing for a few seconds.   
“You fuckin’ should be. G’night, Caleb.”   
She turns away, and they cuddle up together, silent, and follow her instruction.


End file.
